


this time around (we'll do it right)

by fiddleogold_againstyoursoul



Series: the line between hate / love is drawn by our fingertips [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angelica is my wife, Angst, Debate Club, Fluff, Gen, George Washington is the dad teacher, Gym class, Human Disaster Aaron Burr, Love/Hate, Madison is a backstabbing timekeeper, Reincarnation, debate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:43:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9419264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleogold_againstyoursoul/pseuds/fiddleogold_againstyoursoul
Summary: 'Hamilton, your ideas are rubbish.''No, I am the rubbish. High quality rubbish. Rubbish that belongs in recycling.'Loosely based off of the poem "Thought Haunting Me In Busy Streets" by Wistawa Szymborska. Also slightly off "The Gift Of Rain" by Tan Twan Eng.Crediting exadorlion on YouTube for sucking me into this pairing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads-up that the debate style used in this fic is one used in my school and competitions I participate in, so it may vary from ones you are used to. 
> 
> POI: Points of Information, when you "interrupt" someone's speech to point out or ask about something. Optional to take if you are the speaker in question. Usually aggressive.
> 
> I won't explain how debate works, but hopefully y'all get the gist of it.

There is something about the pinprick of human existence in a plain much too large and scary for it to even be plausible that makes Thomas's skin prickle, dark and damp as sweat makes its way from the bottom of his rapidly drooping ponytail to where the collar of the school's disgusting gym clothes meet his broad back.

Or maybe that's just the lack of oxygen talking.

He clenches his teeth and tries to regulate his breathing as he pulls up where his classmates are gathering, some not even broken into a sweat after their four laps. Fucking aliens.

'Nice of you to join us, Mr Jefferson.' George Washington is a formidable man who somehow manages to juggle teaching gym to sweaty, grumpy seniors, and coaching the school elite debate team. 

(Also sweaty, grumpy seniors, but that's besides the point.)

If it were any other teacher, Thomas would be sniping back with one of those remarks that would make any teacher reevaluate their career decisions, but as it is, he keeps mum and resolves to Google how to run so your hair doesn't start frizzing at the edges when you're done.

He looks around for Madison to bemoan this fact, but as if he's reading his mind, Washington's booming voice cuts in on his train of thought.

'Mr Madison had an asthma attack on the first lap, so I had him relocated to the nurse's room.'

So much for having someone to whine about his hair to.

'Jesus Christ, Jimmy.'

Washington either can't hear or ignores him, and turns to the rest of the students, the last of who are slowly trickling in, their shirts sticking to their backs and mouths hanging open.

'To everyone who is not, in fact, half dead, today we are going to be doing some exercises to evaluate your physical state. Please find a partner - of the same gender, preferably, as the school board does hold you to different standards - and settle down.'

There is a murmur, and then Thomas watches in horror as people start partnering up. Friedrich, the lanky European exchange student, points at Benjamin Walker so fast his finger almost flies off, and the girls practically throw themselves at each other. A wild Peggy Schuyler almost falls over Abigail Adams, laughing.

And no Madison. 

'Sir,' He says, hesitantly. 'James is at the nurse's, so -'

'Sir,' Someone else says, less hesitantly. It's a someone else Thomas doesn't particularly like to acknowledge. It's a someone else whose hair is also currently in better shape than Thomas's is, so he's also personally offended. 'John didn't show today, and Herc and Gil are pairing up -'

There is a moment of silence as George Washington looks between the two of them.

Then they both give a cry of horror and jump away from each other.

'Sir, you're not really suggesting -'

_'Sir!'_

'I will not work with him, he is an arrogant, elitist, Republican assh -'

'Fuck you, Hamilton, I am  _not_ Republican!'

'It's an exercise, not a marriage, you whiney little fucks,' Somebody - Thomas whirls to glare at an Angelica Schuyler, who stares him down in turn. 'Just partner up and sit down, the rest of us actually want to start.'

Alexander Hamilton gives him a once-over. Washington only looks stern, disapproving and generally Washington-y. Thomas seizes the last thread of hope he has left.

'You're not really considering this,' He pleads. 'You  _know_ what happens when Hamilton and I are anywhere near each other.'

'It might do you some good to work things out.' Washington strokes his chin in a manner Thomas remembers all too well from diabolical moments in debate practice. 'Better than tearing each other's throats out in a discussion. The decision is final, Hamilton, Jefferson, go sit down.'

'I fucking hate you,' Hamilton says as they plonk down some way apart at the very back of the line, in front of which Washington is demonstrating some complex yoga pose thing. 

'The feeling is very much mutual, scumbag.'

'Ugh. At least tell me you actually prepared for debate practice this time? Last time I floored you.'

Thomas recalls the incident and scowls. 

'The week before that you couldn't answer a single one of my POIs.'

'You went over the fucking time limit! - Burr was glaring at me.' Said Burr turns to look at the pair now, eyes narrowed. His partner is a small, stick-like girl whose eyes are fixated on Washington in the front. 'Fuck off, we're talking about a different Burr.'

'We're not talking.' Thomas folds his arms and pointedly does not look at Hamilton.

'Why don't you go join your stupid boyfriend at the infirmary? I swear he gets sick every week. Didn't he faint on the monkey bars?'

'He's not my boyfriend,' Thomas growls, 'And you slipped off as well.'

_'One time.'_

'I made it through the first.'

'Congratu-fucking-lations.'

No one pays them any heed. They bicker till the bell rings and there's not enough time for one-on-one practice, so Washington just dismisses them. Hamilton stays back, most likely to grump about some affair again. 

Thomas does  _not_ sulk as he heads to the showers to change.

 

* * *

 

There are six members on the school's elite debate team. Two - or three, depending on the quota of the competition - are reserves, but none of them really ever actively play as backup. They're loaded pistols, flexible in speaker roles with a wealth of general knowledge, and fire like a whip.

Thomas Jefferson is very proud to be one of them.

There are times, however, when he is not as proud.

Such as now: see Angelica Schuyler and Aaron Burr, ice cold and shoulders squared as they stare down the other. It's some women's rights issues they're arguing, something Burr retweeted yesterday night, and Angelica will not let it go.

'It's my personal opinion,' Burr begins, but immediately Angelica cuts him short.

'- it's a stupid opinion. Opinions are "ham and cheese sandwiches are better than turkey ones" and "I like this book because reason". Opinions are not "I want to dictate what a woman does with her body and her uterus.'

'She can't expect people to respect her if she dresses like a common whore!'

'Oh, take a break,' Madison moans from where he's sprawled over his desk. 'If Washington comes in and y'all are still bickering, we're dead meat.'

Thomas chews on his pencil in deep thought. He'd really rather stay out of this.

There's a missing seat where Laurens usually takes his place, to watch the festivities - or Alexander launching a chair across the room at Thomas's face - as they like to call it, but it's depressingly vacant. Alexander himself is nowhere to be seen. He only ever shows up with Washington in tow, the boy's like a lapdog.

'Thomas,' Angelica says, in a fit, 'Help me out, here. I know you're not the biggest feminist there is out there, but please, can your Libertarian values weigh in a little? What say you to that if women dress like quote sluts end quote they deserve less respect?'

Burr falls silent, face flush. 

Everyone seems to be anticipating his response.

'Oh, don't ask him that,' Another voice drawls, and Thomas could stab him with a pencil. 'Last week he wouldn't shut up about how taxes are a type of stealing, only government authorised.'

'Hamilton, this is a friendly discussion.'

'Friendly, my ass,' Thomas mutters, but helpfully tucks the pencil into his pocket as Washington steps in behind Hamilton.

'It appears you have already started a sort of discussion. I will let you wrap that up, and then I have a motion for you to debate that Hamilton and I have gone over.'

Hamilton fucking beams and sits down in his seat, shaking his can of grape soda in a way that makes Thomas hope - viciously - that it will explode in his face when he opens it. Alas, that is not the case, for it only mildly froths over, then falls calm.

'I think we're done, thank you, sir.'

Burr settles heavily back down. Angelica stares at him for a second longer - Thomas is being charitable; really, it's a glare - and then follows suit.

'Thank you, Mr Burr. Mr Madison, I hope you're feeling better after this morning's little incident. You're not exactly setting the highest of examples to your juniors and freshmen.'

You could fry an egg on Madison's face.

Thomas taps his foot impatiently on the wooden floors, a tempo that is impossible to miss and even more impossible to replicate - his foot feels like it might fall off any moment now.

'I'll let you get on to the debate,' Washington says, shooting him an amused look, 'But first, I insist on selecting the speakers for each team. As Mr Laurens is not present today there will be only two speakers for each team, with one reserve as the timekeeper. Your time will be four minutes each, and I will expect individual feedback afterwards. Remember to be constructive and kind.'

Hamilton shoots him a glare from across the room.

'Today's motion is resolved that reincarnation should be considered a rational theory. You may begin preparations. Any volunteers for timekeeper?'

To Thomas's great horror, Madison raises his hand.

'Jimmy -'

'I'm not feeling very well,' He says, a sharp look in Thomas's direction. 'If you please, sir.'

'Very well. James Madison will be the timekeeper of this debate. Your teams are: Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton, as government, and likewise, Angelica Schuyler and Aaron Burr as the opposition. There will be no need for reply speeches as you have neither third nor fourth speakers. Your fifteen minutes for preparation starts now.'

'Oh, my God,' Thomas breathes, as Hamilton looks like he might explode.

Angelica sidles up to Burr in the most polite way possible, and they bend their heads over her Mac, the spat from just now somehow vanishing into thin air.

'Sorry, Tom.'

'I'm going to kill you,' He mouths in return, and Madison grins. 

Thomas and Hamilton have never debated together. Together, sure, but always opposing. When they are out on academic competitions, they alternate between reserves and speakers, two souls spinning on the same axis but never seeming to touch. Washington makes sure they never have an excuse to start pulling each other's hair out in public.

Which is why now is such a funny occasion.

(Funny being, of course, an entirely subjective term.)

'Do you want to open,' Hamilton almost snaps, dragging his chair over so aggressively it makes a horrid squeak on the floor. 'Or are you incapable of doing that properly?'

'I know how to open a case, thank you very much.'

'Good, because I want the second speaker role.' 

'Fine.'

'Fine.'

Madison spits his water back into his thermos cup, and Thomas shoots him the bird. Washington is scribbling the definition on the board, his back turned, but Thomas swears he can see the big shit eating grin on the man's face.

'If y'all say a word,' Thomas threatens, and Angelica lobs a paper plane that narrowly misses his left ear.

The rest of the prep time passes in general chaos. Angelica and Burr occasionally look over their shoulder at them to pelt them with eraser dust or pencil shavings, or just to be cheeky, and Hamilton responds in kind, only with more expletives.

'Do we need a yardstick?'

'I don't fucking know, find me one -'

'Let me check your definitions.'

'Let me see your main argument.'

'This doesn't work, fix it.'

'Hamilton, your ideas are rubbish.'

'No, I am the rubbish. High quality rubbish. Rubbish that belongs in recycling.'

'Can't you find a better fucking case study?'

'For fuck's sake, Thomas -'

Thomas finally drafts out a speech Hamilton is satisfied - God, he never is - with, and slams it down onto the desk. This is just as Madison looks up from his gold wristwatch and chirps,

'Time's up!'

'Timekeeper,' Washington says, nodding at him, 'You may begin the debate.'

'A very good afternoon to the individual speakers, adjudicator and the members of the floor. I'm James Madison and I'll be your timekeeper for today. Let me begin by introducing each speaker for each side.

'On the left, in the far back, you'll find our government team. The gentleman in the aggressively magenta sweater is Thomas Jefferson, who'll be opening the case for us. The gentleman next to him is none other than Alexander Hamilton, his second speaker.'

'I'm going to kill Jimmy,' Thomas says, crumpling a rejected argument in his fist.

'If we don't win this, I'm pinning it on you. Because I always win.'

'Excuse me, you weren't winning last, last week. Or the entirety of last month.' Thomas flips his hair in a way he hopes seems impressive. Hamilton only scowls, turning a light pink.

'I was in a slump. It's over, now.'

'Good, because you cost us nationals.'

'I didn't -'

'The motion is resolved that reincarnation should be considered a rational theory. Government,' Madison says, shooting them daggers - he was on the nationals team as well, and perhaps Thomas gives Hamilton too much credit for fucking them completely over because Jimmy froze midway due to a violent attack of coughs, and he's still not letting it go. 'You may begin with your first speaker.'

 

* * *

 

Thomas doesn't trip over a single word. He italicises where he should italicise - yes, he's looking at you, Angelica - and each argument is refined, sharp, and hits home. Madison keeps making sizzling sounds as he mimes touching Thomas's skin, and it's not doing the best thing to his concentration, but he shoulders on.

There are few POIs. Burr, like all speakers with nothing to say in return, questions his sources; Angelica argues little details that he needles out of easily enough.

It's a successful speech. Mostly.

'My second speaker will be reiterating and elaborating on some of these points. For all of the reasons I have already stated, I strongly urge the adjudicator and members of the floor to stand with the motion. I rest my case.' 

He sits down.

His chest is heavy. It hurts. Something feels wrong. 

He's debated in things he doesn't agree with, before. One time he debated that the wabi-sabi mindset should be used in schools. Another time he debated that civilians should all be armed. Each of those times he was able to put his own bias aside and come up with a resolution that satisfied both the nagging feeling of unease sitting in his stomach and the adjudicators. 

This time is different. There's something too familiar about this topic. Too alien, at the same time.

A memory that is not his.

A memory someone else that is also him owns.

He barely catches Burr's speech: as typical of a Burr (trademark) speech, it's long and full of holes, and makes the listener question his stance completely. The POIs are left to Hamilton, who barrels on like a machine gun and has to be stopped when Burr straddles the lines between calm deflection and complete evasion, in which situation Hamilton starts standing up and shouting.

Thomas, with the arm around a teenager he hates and the same arm clamped tight around his godforsaken mouth, questions his life decisions.

Finally Burr sits down and Thomas releases Hamilton, who bends his ear with expletives for a moment before straightening and beginning his speech. 

(Thomas sees Washington's eyes rolling.)

But Hamilton's speech isn't the one they discussed. Neither is it anything Thomas expected, either.

Hamilton's speech is extraordinary.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn't begin by introducing himself or greeting the floor. He doesn't begin with refuting Burr's - precious few - arguments and or reiterating any of Thomas's.

He begins, with, instead, this.

'There is a road. It is a busy road. You are alone on that road, but you are not lonely. You are not lonely because all around you are people. Even though there are people, you are alone.'

Thomas opens his mouth to speak, but he's frozen to the chair. He can't move. Sweat covers the bottoms of his palms.

'You are alone because you are unique in the universe. On the road. You stand in the middle of the road, and people walk by you. You see people you recognise. You see faces you recognise. These faces are not ones you have seen in this lifetime. You recognise them because they are people you have never met, not in this lifetime.'

No one moves. Time seems to slow.

'There is a grandmother who is carrying a bundle of sticks and a small child. Her name is Anne Frank. She is not Anne Frank. But she is. You recognise her as the Anne Frank you do not know now, the one you did know.'

'Stop,' Thomas croaks, but Hamilton doesn't seem to hear him. He is alone.

'The first president of the United States. George Washington. He stands in mom jeans and a dirty button-down. There is spaghetti on the button-down. Someone spilled spaghetti on the first president of the United States, but you recognise him not as that, but rather the George Washington you do know.

'There is a road. The road is long. The road is full of people. People are milling by you. You recognise these people. You do not recognise these people. You remember these faces, but you do not remember from where. From when.'

There are faces. There are faces swimming in Thomas's head. People that once were. People in another plane of reality.

'The American Revolutionary War,' Thomas says. He does not know why he says it. It is not his memory. There is a feeling of numbness. Perhaps, as the Chinese say, it is enlightenment. They have been here before, quarrelled over the same things and kissed the same people.

(Wanted to kiss the same people.)

Hamilton smiles at him.

'Maybe Nature recycles. Maybe she gets tired of coming up with new ideas and just recycles. Our faces, minds, ideologies. Maybe Einstein is a dad in overalls who doesn't know how to work a television set. Maybe Mother Theresa is throwing a fit because she can't wear her mother's lipstick.'

And then, suddenly, it breaks.

(The illusion, Thomas means. Though perhaps so does the feeling of enlightenment.)

 

* * *

 

'And with that, I rest my case.'

'Thank you, second speaker of the government team. Second speaker of the opposition, you have one minute to prepare for your speech. Your time begins now.'

Madison starts the clock as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. Washington is sitting at the front of the class, stroking his chin like a cat; Angelica and Burr are conversing entirely in furious whispers. Hamilton sits down.

Thomas wipes his hands on his jeans. He is shaky.

'You could've helped me out with that POI, y'know.' Hamilton stares at him accusingly. 'Maybe one of the only times something Burr said actually betrayed what side he was on.'

'POI?'

Thomas tries to recall any interruption during the speech. There is none.

At least, not in this memory.

He thinks of dust on battlefields he was not on. Fine wine and dancing and high French. Debates on things more important, arguments that shaped a country.

'Aaaand time.'

Angelica stands, and the thoughts are promptly wiped from Thomas's mind. But only temporarily.

'Good afternoon to the honourable adjudicator, worthy yet misguided government, and the members of the floor. I'm Angelica Schuyler and I'll be the second and final speaker of the opposition for the motion -'

'You're spacing out.'

Hamilton elbows him.

Thomas blinks at him.

'A cabinet meeting,' He says, stupidly.

Hamilton looks at him like he's grown a third eye, and honestly, at this point Thomas wouldn't even be surprised. 'A what? Listen, we gotta weigh in on this. Angie could hit it home. Gotta make the POIs count.'

There is a sense of urgency building in him. 

'Hamilton -'

Hamilton leans over and kisses him.

 

* * *

 

It is a whirlwind of emotions.

Repulsion is one of them. So is shock, thick waves of shock in Thomas's fingertips pressing against Hamilton's scruffy jawline, in his lips opening and closing urgently against Hamilton's. But so is a gradual reluctance. A longing. 

(Last time round, he thinks. We didn't get this right last time round.)

 _We were beautiful,_ Hamilton sings back.  _High and beautiful and powerful, but we never got it right. We tried over and over. Every time. Two souls spinning on the same axis but never meeting._

 _'Sir,'_ Angelica protests, more in amusement than real horror, though her tone is also tinged with annoyance at being interrupted by an impromptu makeout session.

Washington's mouth is hanging open. Thomas can only tell that much from where he is clawing at Hamilton's shirt, the offensive obstructive thing it is.

James is in hysterics, his watch on the floor. Burr just looks disgusted. Poor Burr. Got chewed out by Angelica, sat through a session of being stormed at by Hamilton  _and_ has to watch two people he loathes - or tolerates, barely - violently make out in the middle of his teammate's speech.

When finally Hamilton pulls away, his lips are red and swollen, and he is crying. Thomas hates that he's crying.

Lord knows they've cried enough in their combined lifetimes.

'Boys,' Washington booms, voice catching in a way that makes Thomas wonder if he's crying or laughing, 'Indecent behaviour on the debate floor is call for immediate disqualification. The round goes to Angelica and Burr. Jefferson, take a walk; Hamilton,  _take a walk._ This is the worst possible timing to work out your -  _ah,_ tension.'

Madison is on the floor, weeping actual tears. Thomas would go to him if it weren't for the lingering feeling of betrayal.

Hamilton stares at him. 

'Take a walk, meaning don't be back for a while.'

'My place is nearby.'

Hamilton licks his lips, considering. Thomas wants to take a picture. Commemorate this. But even memory is unreliable in a world like this.

His head spins.

'C'mon, then.'

'Ew, you guys, gross, get a room,' Angelica shouts at them as they dash out, though it's in a gleeful sort of way. They can hear her cackles even in the hallway, whether from winning the debate or at their expense is unknown. 'Text me, Alex!'

 

* * *

 

The next day they show up to class covered with hickeys and nail marks. Hamilton won't hold Thomas's hand and they still scream at each other during debates, but after every day Hamilton will pull Thomas down to his height and plant his lips on his, and somehow, it will be okay.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in a day so please point out any errors kindly thank you
> 
> if you liked, check out my other, significantly longer Jamilton fic and hit Kudos, maybe.


End file.
